


I'd Rather Be

by Arielavader



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arielavader/pseuds/Arielavader
Summary: Crowley needs to blow off some demonic steam but has to cancel plans with Aziraphale to do so. Misunderstandings follow because of course they do.I'm really bad at summaries.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	I'd Rather Be

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fan fiction piece I have ever posted anywhere.

He hated this. Hated being here. Hated that he had had to cancel dinner plans, but he had woken up this morning (eh, afternoon? Maybe just earlier?) and knew he'd left it too long and would be miserable until he could do something about it. He much preferred daily mischief to drowning in this sea of temptations but he had been spending so much time with the angel that he forgot himself. 

And the last thing he wanted to do was to take said angel out to dinner only to be miserable company. Aziraphale would ask questions that Crowley didn’t want to answer. And he didn’t want his best friend to think that he didn’t want to be there. That'd be worse than canceling. And they'd already rescheduled for lunch tomorrow, so really everything was fine. Just fine. 

Except for the overwhelming itch under his skin that meant he needed to get the demonic energy coursing through his corporation back under control. It wasn’t like he hadn't tried a few other things earlier, hoping he wouldn't have to cancel dinner. And while they made the itch bearable, it kept coming back too quickly for him to be fully sated with his normal stunts. 

Which is how he found himself here, at some posh nightclub full of rich kids wanting to forget that they had no worries. He had mingled with the crowd on the dance floor, whispering inner thoughts, redirecting the humans' attention from their dance partners. Though the worst was brushing against people and letting them touch him. But it was the easiest in a crowd like this. He'd let his demonic aura hide him so that their eyes never really caught and instead let the humans fight about who had just touched who and why. All in good fun. 

At least it was a Friday night, which meant the club was full and at this particular haunt, alcohol was the drug of choice. They made their drinks a little stronger than most places around here. Crowley had only had one drink when he arrived, just to numb the thought of what he was to endure.

An hour later he found himself back at the bar, being a horrible wingman to some bastard kid who reminded him a bit too much of the Archangel fucking Gabriel and getting a second drink before heading back to his flat. 

The itch had finally settled and he nursed his whiskey slowly, trying to think of something to get the angel to make up for their missed date - okay maybe date was the wrong word. But he did enjoy the smile that Aziraphale gave him whenever Crowley brought him things. Maybe some pastries and tea from his favorite bakery or chocolates or a nice bottle of wine for them to share in the backroom. Flowers would probably be a bit much just for rescheduling. 

Wine would probably be best, he finally settled. After their lunch they could head back to the shop for a little day drinking though was it really considered day drinking on a Saturday? And well, they were technically retired, so did it matter what time they popped open the first bottle of wine? Feeling a smile start to creep along his lips, he forced his face back into his neutral grimace and took another drink of his whiskey.

It was good, probably some of the best he'd ever had at a place like this, no miracles required to make it taste right. Still, he'd much rather be at a dimly lit little restaurant, sipping a glass of wine while watching Aziraphale enjoy dessert, or drinking anything while sitting on an old sofa, ranting about who knows what or reminiscing about that time in Egypt when they had watched the humans create the wonders of the world. He didn't know how they used to go centuries without seeing one another. Now just a few days felt like ages. 

Crowley finished his drink while thinking about his comfortable bed and seeing his angel tomorrow, left a rather undemonically large tip for the two women working behind the bar and turned to walk out of the club. 

A flash of white blonde and beige caught his eye. 

What in the Heaven would Aziraphale be doing in a place like this? He extended his senses but couldn’t feel any angelic aura around. Maybe it was just a human then. He shook his head and started to walk out once more, but something deep inside him told him to stay, so he turned back around and took a deep breath. 

Definitely the angel’s scent, too unique to belong to any human. Maybe he had sensed something and come here to do a blessing of some sort? Crowley looked around again but could no longer see flashes of white blond hair among the crowd. He picked up the scent again and followed it to a back door of the club. 

Logically he knew Aziraphle could take care of himself. After all, he was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and while he might look like a pudgy, sweet old college professor, behind the softness lay strength. But Crowley’s head rarely prevailed when it came to the angel and so, as it did too often for his own liking, a daring rescue appealed to his traitorous heart. He kicked the door open, ready to play the part. 

A fairly tall, larger man with dark hair, dressed in a fairly nice, modern suit, had Aziraphale pushed up against the wall of the alley. It was dark, the only light from the reflection of the city on the perpetual clouds that seemed to linger over London. Even darker with his sunglasses, but Crowley was a demon and had no issue seeing in the dark. 

They hadn't noticed that someone had joined them and even though the human's fists were clenched around the lapels of the angel's coat the ethereal being didn't look scared. Crowley's mind flashed back suddenly to Tadfield Manor and his own reaction to the angel calling him nice. He blinked slowly to clear his head of that image and then had to blink again when the human's lips landed on Aziraphale's own.

Anger overwhelmed him. How dare a _human_ even think to touch his angel. No human was worthy enough to sully the most perfect being currently on Earth. Crowley felt his fangs elongate and he knew his eyes had flooded with yellow, his pupils mear slits, as unhuman as they could get. He coiled like the snake he was. 

"Get your blessssed handsss off of him!" He hissed, wishing for the first time his demonic aspect was something that could roar and rend and tear this human apart piece by piece.

The human turned from Aziraphale and looked Crowley up and down, taking in the lanky frame of his corporation. His demonic aura might be bleeding out all over the place but the human was drunk and humans were known to be stupid at the best of times. "And what are you going to do about it?" 

Crowley struck, pulling the man off the angel and holding him by the throat, claws extending from his fingers as he slammed him into the opposite wall. He let his glasses slip down his nose so the man could see his eyes. "You don't want to find out. I promise you won't enjoy it."

Drinking in the fear rolling off the human in waves, Crowley smirked for a moment. Then sighing deeply, he tossed the man effortlessly down the alley back to a main road. The human for his sake scampered off. 

Pulling his demonic aspects back down, the demon turned to see a flustered angel, cheeks slightly pink, straightening his bow tie. 

"What was that for?" Aziraphale said softly in a tone that was more annoyed than grateful.

Crowley looked at him like he'd sprouted a second head. "That human had his hands on you!" He spat. 

"Yes, and I'd rather hoped he would continue."

"You what?" Crowley gaped at him. Aziraphale for his part rolled his eyes a bit overdramatically. 

"What? The humans had been pawing all over you all night, what does it matter if one of them wanted me?"

Crowley’s mind wasn't working and so he latched on to the only bit that made sense. "You've been watching me?"

Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat and then started wringing his hands in front of his stomach. "I," he began and then stopped for a moment. "Well, I followed you. You sounded strange on the telephone and I was a bit worried. I rather tried to talk myself out of it until I felt a demonic aura pass by the bookshop and... I couldn't help myself." He looked a bit ashamed.

Crowley ran his hands through his hair and groaned. 

"I found you here, watched you enjoy the humans and thought that maybe I could find one that wouldn't...mind me."

"Wouldn't mind you?" Crowley was almost yelling and he saw the angel flinch. He backed off. "Aziraphale," Crowley softened his voice. "You're an Angel, angel. Everyone likes you. You listen and smile and nod in all the right places like you care." 

Aziraphale said nothing, only looked at him with a frown. 

Crowley's eyes went wide, though still hidden behind his glasses, when his brain finally caught up to what Aziraphale had been saying. "Wait. You mean you _wanted_ the human to touch you?" He couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice even as his heart shriveled to dust inside him. He knew he was a demon, knew he was even less worthy than a human to lay a finger on the beautiful creature before him and yet, it still hurt to hear it in words and see it in deeds. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his too tight jeans and looked down at the ground before them. 

Aziraphale sighed. "I just thought. I thought it would be nice to feel wanted. The way that they want you. I mean, you are so… well look at you," he gestured vaguely at Crowley. "And I'm so…" Aziraphale trailed off.

"Bloody gorgeous?" Crowley offered and then silently blessed his traitorous mouth. 

"I was going to say soft."

"You say it like it's a bad thing." Aziraphale started to protest and Crowley pushed on, looking back up at him. "Look, angel. That in there? That's Hell. So many bodies pressed together and it's sweaty and dirty and hot and I hate it, all right? And I wasn't enjoying any of it, not really. But I'm a demon." He left the _I deserve it_ unspoken.

The angel waited for him to continue but when he didn't say anything else, a sigh left those perfect lips. He stared at Crowley for a moment before turning and walking away. Or rather stumbling away. 

Crowley caught him, arm about his waist. "Are you drunk?"

"Might be a bit, I'm afraid." Aziraphale said. "I'll just head home then. Next time I will find a place you don't frequent so I'm no bother."

Crowley ignored the ache in his chest at the words. "You idiot! I'm not going to let you walk home drunk."

"I shan't take up more of your time, my dear. After all, you canceled our dinner plans for this, so, please go back to it."

"Why are you always so stupid." Crowley growled and dropped his arm from around the angel. "I'm sorry, okay. I just needed to get out and do something demonic, stop the itch that was festering under my skin. I spend so much bloody time around you and I hate reminding you of what I am."

Aziphale turned to him. "Crowley, you think I don't know?"

"Of course you do, you remind me of it all the blessed time. Excuse me if I don't want to bring it up if I can help it." He growled. Didn't mean to. 

Aziraphale scoffed. "I'm not trying to remind you. I'm trying to remind myself why I can't have you." He looked away from Crowley quickly. 

Oh. _Oh fuck._

The angel continued quickly stuttering over words that just kept pouring out. "I know you've told me we're on our own side. And you are my friend, my best friend. Gabriel and the other Angels always made me feel like I wasn't enough…"

"Sober up, Aziraphale. I am not having this conversation with you drunk."

"I don't think I can have this conversation sober, my dear." He took a deep breath and Crowley watched him slowly gather his thoughts.

"I never felt like I was adequate in Heaven. My reports, my choice in corporation, my books, my love of the humans and my wanting to stay here on Earth. No one ever understood me. I never _really_ trusted everything they said mind you, but I've never really felt like enough, even after everything that happened when the world didn't end."

He finally turned back to face the demon. "So when I saw you here, moving your way through the crowds, looking so perfect, seeing how they all wanted you, wanted to touch you… I thought, maybe if someone wanted me that way..."

He never finished the thought because Crowley had him up against the wall, lips pressing hard against the angel's own. Crowley pulled away a moment later realizing he had no idea if Aziraphale wanted this but a strong hand on the back of his head pulled him back to those perfect lips and he moaned the angel's name into them as the kiss became deeper and more desperate.

Finally, he wretched himself apart from Aziraphale, panting hard. "That was not how I ever imagined that." He said with a grin. 

It took a moment for Aziraphale's eyes to flutter open. "Crowley?" He asked bewildered. And then the demon's words registered. "You imagined kissing me?"

_Every moment, since the Beginning._ His heart beat so loudly with those words he was almost afraid he'd said them aloud. But there were some things he would only say when one of them wasn't drunk in a dark alley behind some stupid nightclub. "Ngk." 

He could see Aziraphale sober up then. His head shook for a moment and then the angel looked at the demon, and Crowley couldn't decipher that look. "I know you hate when I say it, but thank you."

Crowley was too bewildered to take offense. "What are you even thanking me for?"

"For being kind to me, my dear. I do appreciate it."

Crowley rolled his eyes, not that it mattered. "What are you going on about?"

"The kiss, Crowley, do keep up. I'm sober now, so I will see myself back home. Mind how you go." 

"No!" Crowley grabbed his arm. "I kiss you and all you can say is thank you?"

"I know you were just…" Aziraphale waved his hand in front of Crowley as if trying to find the right words. "Well, trying to make me feel better. And I do appreciate it. I just… I think I'd rather be alone for a while."

"Angel!" Crowley groaned. This was not how this was supposed to go. None of it. He knew his angel, he'd want romance, and picnics and perfect weather and perfect words. But Crowley also had a feeling that if he let Aziraphale walk away right now he'd lose him forever. And he'd thought he lost him once. He couldn't bear it again. "Please don't go."

"Crowley?" 

"I love you," the demon mumbled softly, anxiously rushed, more afraid than he'd been when he had asked the angel for Holy Water, when the bookshop was burning, when Satan himself had appeared on an airbase in Tadfield.

"You what?" Aziraphale was wide eyed and his tone was the same as Crowley's had been, being told that an Angel of the Lord had just given away his God given sword to the humans the Almighty had cast out of Her garden. And wasn't that just poetic irony six thousand years in the making. 

"I love you." He glared at his hereditary enemy. 

"Still?" Aziraphale's voice carried a note of wariness, reminding Crowley of a bus stop after a very long day of saving the world. And the penny dropped. Aziraphale had known, of course he had and yet his idiot angel had thought that Crowley had changed his mind somewhere along the way? He asked himself, not for the first time and not for the last time he was sure, why he loved this daft, wonderful, beautiful bastard before him. But it didn't matter why. It never had.

"Always." Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. 

And then the world turned on a dime. 

Aziraphale's face lit up like the blessed sun and Crowley soaked up every bit of it. He found himself gathered up in the arms of a principality and he wasn't exactly sure where his limbs were supposed to go and somehow none of it fucking mattered because Aziraphale was there and Crowley just breathed him in. And then they were kissing again and Aziraphale was calling him things like my darling and dearest and God - Satan - Somebody he'd better not wake up alone in his bed and this all have been a dream.

Finally, finally he pulled away from the _-his, really truly his-_ angel and saw tears on the other's face.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," Crowley practically whined. "Don't cry, angel, please don't cry." He wiped the tears away with his thumb. 

"Sorry," Aziraphale said softly, choking back more tears, eyes on the ground. "It's just... Crowley, I thought I'd pushed you away too often. That I'd never get to have this."

"Aziraphale, look at me?" Crowley removed his sunglasses then and the angel's eyes, grey and shimmering in the dark met the tainted yellow of his own. "I don't know how to be without this. You showed me something no one, not even the Almighty, ever showed me. I will always be here or wherever you need or want me.

"Angel," he continued, knowing Aziraphale needed these words. They were on their own side and he was not going to let his angel forget it again. "It has never been easy and it probably never will be. Hell is awful and so is Heaven and those Archangel wankers. You are the only angel worth anything. And I meant what I said before. You are bloody gorgeous." 

"Oh, my darling demon," Aziraphale said gently before soft lips again found themselves on Crowley’s. The demon melted against the angel and with a snap of fingers they were standing just outside an old bookshop in Soho. And when the kiss broke apart they were laughing.

And Crowley didn't wake up alone, but rather found himself the next morning, his head cradled in the lap of an angel whose fingers were carding gently through his hair, on a sofa in the back of a bookshop, exactly where he always wanted to be.


End file.
